Holding On

Wow. I am SO SORRY it took so long to get this chapter out D: I'm such a bastard... Anyway, this chapter's soundtrack is to the song "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse. Who the song is referring to (Zin or Cassara) is up to your own interpretation :D Enjoooooy.

(as a side note, I honestly don't remember much about bodies of water in Terokkar. So if I screwed up terrain, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I'm too broke to play WoW anymore!)

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As Zin lumbered up the cobblestone pathway to the Mage's quarters on the Scryer's Tier, he had to pause and take in the scene scant feet before him. Cassara was there, kneeling in a simple brown robe, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tiny hands blackened by fresh earth. She was currently tamping the soil down around a freshly blooming bush of Arthas' Tears, tucking it in amongst its brothers, a group of five in a row, by the side of the front door. The blooms were a healthy, glowing purple, and they accented the paint of the outer walls in an almost regal manner. The flowers themselves were beautiful, and the way she was artfully arranging her flower beds showed her appreciation of them.

He reminded himself that she probably practiced Alchemy, and that those pretty flowers were most likely going into some strange potion by their full germination.

Cassara sat back on her heels, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of a forearm, and examined her work. She seemed to consider carefully, her dirty fingers bunching in the lap of her robe. From where she sat, Zin could very well imagine her chewing on her lower lip, a look of concentration he had noticed on his first visit to her, and the thought almost made him smile. She looked so natural, at peace in her surroundings; it was disarming, and comfortable, and gave him a strange sense of balance. He sighed, and though he hated to break up the quaintness of such a scene, he felt his mouth opening.

“Ya be lookin' at dem flowers pretty hard, Mage.”

Just as he had hoped, his voice startled her, and she jumped sideways, falling on her rump in her carefully tended lawn. She spun, a hand going to her chest, the other curling in a defensive position, readying a spell to be cast. But the moment her eyes focused on his large form, he watched her shoulders droop in relaxation, and a wide grin split her flushed face. Without a word of warning she leapt to her feet, jogging down the path to him. He was prepared for it, of course, but he still felt a strange shock to his system when her long, slender arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, pulling him even further down into a tight, warm embrace. His discomfort with such a display, his confusion as well, went unnoticed by her as she squeezed him for all she was worth. Zin sighed against her shoulder, and with his one free hand, returned the embrace, his hand curling around the curve of her waist. Seemingly satisfied with his eventual participation, Cassara finally pulled away, though she did not relinquish her wish of physical contact. Her hands drew across his shoulders, down to his biceps where they remained, her face turned up, smiling at him.

“I'm so glad you came. I was worried my missive did not reach you in time, if at all.”

Though she was smiling, grinning like a fool, really, Zin could detect the hint of weariness and concern in her voice, see the fear glinting behind her shamrock green eyes. It made him wonder... and it made him, against all knowledge and common sense, wish to comfort her.

“Nah, no need ta be worryin' 'bout me, leetle girl. Da secret ain't out jus' yet.”

Her smile softened at his tone, and her hands slid a little further down, over his forearms, “That is good to know. Well, I suppose you'd like to get comfortable? I should have some tea somewhere, if you'd like, or maybe something to eat?” as she spoke, she turned, her little fingers curling around his arm to lead him toward her home. He gave no resistance, and did not try to pull away, which only confused him. But, he supposed, there was no point in trying to deter Cassara's need for physical contact. She was only Human, after all, and Human's were notoriously grabby. Besides, it was an interesting contrast to observe, the color of her skin against his, the difference in temperature and texture. The scholarly part of his brain was reveling in the knowledge and discovery, while he steadfastly ignored that darker part of his mind that was coiling and slithering, and whispering things that he outright refused to acknowledge.

As she made sure he was comfortable, that his place on the couch was tidy and uncluttered, she chattered away absently. He was still impressed by her ability to speak the Orcish language so fluidly, the words seeming almost... exotic, when coming from her lips. He did not pay so much attention to the words themselves, but rather the sounds she made in that soft, almost music tone that seemed to be hers alone. He thought, perhaps, that if she were to convert to Common, Elvish, or even Gnomish, it would still sound just as beautiful.

As he sat, watching her ready the kettle for tea, for the first time, he did not try to push away such a thought. The feeling of peace he encountered was as much a surprise as it was a pleasure.

They sat together on the couch, Zin wondering how he could possibly hold his mug comfortably when the little handle was too narrow to accommodate his fingers, listening to Cassara talk. She was leaning against the arm rest, her long legs curled up beneath her. Her bare toes were visible, peeking out beneath the hem of her linen robe. Her hair was still slightly disheveled from the breeze outside, stray strands curling across her forehead and cheeks. He wanted very much, and very suddenly, to push those strands away, to touch the softness of her hair. That thought, however, he did indeed push away.

“You will be happy to know that I have started on the next section of the Diary for you, though it is rough at best.”

“Dat's good. Ya left me in a bad place wit' it before. Was considerin' comin' out here just ta' beat ya for yer cruelty.”

She laughed at that, giving him a sly look, “Oh? Perhaps that was just part of my evil, wicked plan. Now I know how to get a Troll to do my bidding: drive him crazy with curiosity.”

He lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug, sipped at his tea, “Der be many ways ta get a Troll ta do ya biddin', girly. Ways dat not be so mean.”

“And what, pray tell, would these fascinating methods be, Zin?”

Her tone had noticeably changed. The sweet, sing-song of her voice had dropped an octave, becoming something deeper, something... spiced with secrets. The sound of it gave him a thrill at the base of his spine, and he looked at her sidelong, gauging her reaction. She had shifted again, relaxing fully against the arm of her sofa. Her teacup was held loosely in her hand, resting atop her thigh. Her other hand had gone to her hair, curling her finger around a loose lock that had freed itself from the wrapped style she wore it in. Her eyes had gone hooded, the color darkening into something akin to emeralds. Zin felt himself swallow hard, and he looked away.

He recalled his cousin, and what he might have said if such a blatant invitation had been passed at him. He would have laughed, leered, smiled, and poured on the charm. In the blink of an eye, the woman in question would have been in his bed and practically singing the Rogue's praises. Zin had no misconceptions about himself, no delusions of grandeur as it were. Not that he was prudish, for certain, but Cassara was... well, he supposed the main problem was her race. She was Human, a member of the Alliance. And while charming in her own fumbling, clumsy way, and certainly attractive for her kind, he found he could not bring himself to look past the baser problems. Or maybe he was imagining it. He knew so little of Human customs; perhaps this was just a sign of her relaxing more, showing him a part of herself that she normally reserved for closer friendships. Hells... maybe he was simply making excuses, and making a fool of himself besides.

Still, he thought, things were always better safe than sorry. He cleared his throat, and abruptly changed the subject.

“So, how long do ya figure 'till da next section be ready?”

Thankfully, she did not lack the social graces to see that her turn of conversation was being avoided, and she sobered, smiling at him like normal. She stood, setting her cup on the floor, and went to her work table. It was just as cluttered and disorganized as it had been on his first visit, a familiarity that he knew he would always associate with her.

“As you can see, I haven't gotten very far in them. Just a few sentences. The differences in our language can be quite vast, and I'm attempting to be as accurate as possible. I think...” she paused, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, the motion catching Zin's gaze and holding it, “I think that she deserves to have her story told to its fullest.”

As she made herself comfortable on the couch again, the single sheet of parchment clutched between her fingers, Zin found himself unable to answer, his eyes riveted to her mouth. The gesture of her lips, moving around the words was so slight, so inconsequential, and so very, very distracting. His thoughts returned to Atal, the way the elder Troll would have reacted to the situation, to the odd sensation of arousal stirring in his gut. The knowledge and the consequences that would surely follow did nothing to deter the persistent feeling, and Zin drained the tea that was left in his cup, suddenly wishing that it was something with a bit more kick to it.


- - - - - - - - - -


After a week, Zin felt himself at a bit of a loss. The days began at mid morning, his kindly host insisting on letting him sleep in as she prepared breakfast and morning tea, making about as much noise as a Cathedral Mouse so as to not disturb him. He would wake to the smell of freshly fried bacon, eggs; sometimes she would prove adventurous, and would surprise him with dishes that she claimed she had learned to cook at her mother's skirts. There were fried vegetables and battered pieces of bread, woody tasting syrups and sweet fruits. She seemed to delight in his experiences with the new cuisines, always more than happy to refill his plate when he offered her a pleading stare, unsure as to how to express his gratitude short of asking for a second helping. She had even gone so far in her effort to make him comfortable by cleaning up her single table, filing away her paper work in a somewhat reasonable order so they could sit together and enjoy their meals properly. And the tea... she had gone out of her way in that, consulting with the various occupants of the Tier as to traditional Trollish drink. She had paid an undisclosed amount for a small tin of tea, straight from Durotar, just for him.

In the afternoons, after her duties in the Tier, they would sit outside on her front lawn. He would watch her in her garden, they would speak off and on about various things, their range reaching from the most mundane to the deeply philosophical. He suspected that Cassara found his aptitude toward intelligent discussion to be a joy, something rare and surprising. He informed her, his voice light and teasing, that even the most basic of tradesmen could outwit a King, that despite his class and rank, all in the Horde were afforded the chance at education. Their ways may be very different, but Thrall understood the need to work the mind as well as the body. Both were useful tools, and nothing was more dangerous than an enemy with understanding. But mostly, he would just sit and be, watching the way her clever hands turned the soil and pruned the flowers, the way her hair, fiery and wild, would inevitably sneak free of the coil at the crown of her head and drape down across her neck and cheeks. He would smile to himself when she would push the strands away, smearing blackened earth across her skin without her even realizing it. She would give him a half-hearted glare, asking what he found so amusing, to which he would not give her a straight answer.

It was a comfortable moment, one of simplicity and center. And that made it all the more beautiful.

But with this realization, this feeling, Zin only found himself more confused. Cassara had kept to her word, and in the evenings, sometimes late into the night, she would work over Lilla's diary, reshaping the story into words that Zin could read and understand. She had refused to let him take a peek, to get a taste of what was coming, promising that he would appreciate it all the better if he simply had patience with it, and let it be a surprise. He thought that those words were a bit harsh, considering the nature of Lilla's story, but he kept that impression to himself. He could not seem to bring himself to chastise the little Mage, to steal any sort of joy from her life. Which only brought him back around to confusion.

As he sat on her front steps, watching her work the earth of her garden, he allowed his mind to wander, and his eyes to linger.

She was small, even by Human standards; slim, willowy. She was too pale for the amount of time she spent in the sun, though freckles were beginning to show more with each day, splattering across the bridge of her nose, beneath her eyes. Her lips were full, naturally pouty, and could sweep into a smile with heartfelt ease. Her eyes would glitter, practically shine when she did. And her hands... Zin felt a small shiver race through him as he watched her hands. They were so quick, so clever, so elegant as they wrote or cast spells. And her touch....

She had refrained from being easy with her touches, as when he first arrived. She had not hugged him again, and he watched her visibly restrain herself at times. He knew it was Human nature to touch; for reassurance, for the simple need of contact. But try as she might, there were times where she could not restrain herself, or had simply forgotten to halt when instinct took her over. The touches were always simple; a pat on his arm, a poke to his ribs when they teased, her fingertips floating across the back of his hand. And he found that the more she slipped up, the more he seemed to grow comfortable with her contact. The more he found himself anticipating, even looking forward to it.

He wondered, perhaps, if it was Troll nature to crave touch, particularly from an attractive woman. Atal certainly had no qualms with personal contact, from any race at all. Even Rigi, as sardonic and closed as he was didn't seem to think twice about bedding a woman. Maybe it was instinctual. Maybe his cousins were simply depraved. Gods knew they teased him enough in the past about loosening up and getting while the getting was good to support that theory. And even though he balked at their lewd talk, Zin could not help but find himself wondering, sometimes.

And the more time he spent with Cassara, the more the wondering grew. She had certainly not invited such curiosities since that first night. Her voice had not lowered, had not help promise, teasing glimpses into something he had never known. But despite that, Zin could not help nor stop his mind from wandering down paths he was sure he was not welcome. And thus the root of his problem.

“Ya do dis for profession or for pleasure?” he asked, forcing himself back into the present situation, and focusing his eyes on the small bush of Dreamfoil she had tucked between the Arthas' Tears. Again, Atal slipped into his mind, cackling gleefully at the possibility of a double entendre, and he mentally winced.

Thankfully, Cassara left that awkward phrase alone, and sat back on her heels, smiling, “The Tier believes I grow the plants for Alchemy, and yes, I do use some for that. But mostly...” she reached out, taking a single, delicate leaf between her thumb and forefinger, stroking it almost reverently, “Mostly I do this because I enjoy it. Flowers, even the most deadly in use, can be so incredibly beautiful. Besides, I see no point in doing something unless you enjoy it. There is so much we do in life that brings misery to others and ourselves. Our time on this planet is far too short to waste it on that which brings suffering.”

He knew that he should have argued on that point. What was she doing, aiding her faction, if not bringing suffering to those of his country? What did she think those at the Tier were using her potions for? Her hands were unclean as his own in that respect. But he did not voice his thoughts, his rebellious feelings. Instead, he found himself smiling and laying back on the grass, pillowing his head on his hands, lacing the fingers together as he closed his eyes against the sun. They did not speak further, and soon, they made their way inside for lunch and tea.


- - - - - - - - - - -

“Ya ever go fishin', mon?”

Cassara looked up at him over the rim of her tea cup, her brow quirking of its own accord. “Fishing?”

“Ya. Rod, line, bauble. Fishing.” He articulated his words by bringing his arms up, imitating the motion of casting his line out, then reeling it back in. Cassara laughed, setting her cup down on its saucer, shaking her head in merriment.

“Yes, Zin. I have gone fishing before. We used to do it frequently when I was still at home. My brothers used to chase me around with the leeches we would use for bait quite often, as I recall.”

Zin grinned at her, imagining a tiny little girl with fire red hair, running away from the squirming, slimy creatures, “Did ya enjoy it?”

“The leeches, no. But the relaxation that comes with the fishing, yes, yes I did enjoy it. In fact, I remember that we would make a grand game of the outing. My brothers, Light bless them, would boast that no girl could ever best them at such a manly sport. We would make a deal that whoever caught the largest fish would be granted a copper from each of the losers, as well as be free of their chores for the evening.”

Zin grinned again, leaning forward across the table, his elbows braced on the top as he gave her a knowing leer, “Lemme guess. Ya spent most a yo summer bein' lazy and rich.”

She laughed at that, and soon returned his look, “By the time I left home, I had no need of odd jobs to earn my way to the Tier. No one could best me.”

Zin felt the challenge in her eyes, saw it in the way her mouth turned into a smile. The look thrilled him, both his urge for competition, and the thoughts that were sneaking to the forefront more often than not. He knew he should back down, let the subject rest, but the look of her, the excitement he saw building within her stayed his fear.

“Ya talk big fo such a leetle Mage. Don' 'tink fo a minute ya could best me.”

There... there it was. Her eyes flashed, the color lightening until it was almost the color of Fel Fire. Her cheeks grew warm, rosy almost in hue, and her jovial smile turned a bit darker, a bit deeper with challenge.

“Name your terms.”

“Same as when ya beat yo bruddas. I win, ya gimme a copper piece... but since ya do all da chores 'round here anyway, I 'tink I get ta ask fo' somethin' else. If ya win, I do all da cookin' an' cleanin' der need ta be done.”

She snorted, “What, I get no money for having to put up with your wounded male pride? That hardly seems fair.”

Zin laughed, pleased that she was getting into the spirit of competition so quickly, “Fine. Ya gets yo copper piece, too. Do we have a deal?”

He held his hand out for hers, intending to shake on the agreement, but Cassara paused. He wondered if she were reconsidering the bargain, though really, he saw no reason for her to. It was a fair deal, once of fancy and silliness that he had thought perhaps would appeal to her. Instead, she stared at his offered hand, looking at it as though it were a foreign object, some strange, alien thing. It was not a look of disgust, however, much to his relief. She had touched him before, so he knew she felt no qualms about it then. It took a moment, but finally she reached out to him in turn, her tiny hand nearly swallowed whole inside his palm, his fingers curling around hers.

The instant contact was made, Zin had an idea of why she hesitated.

Her skin was warm, as always, but there was something different about it then. He felt a slight tingle go up his arm, into his shoulder, and nestled somewhere in his stomach. It was soft, comfortable. And somehow, it felt familiar. Without knowing how or why he was doing it, he reached his other hand out, and instead of shaking hers to seal a bargain, he found himself holding her hand in each of his own. Cupping it, cradling it, surrounding it with his six fingers and two large palms. He trapped it there, wanting to savor the feeling of her. She didn't move, merely watching as he enclosed her limb. Again, without thought, one of his thumbs caressed the back of her hand, and the same tingle shot up his arm.

Abruptly, and with no small measure of embarrassment, Zin released her and stood, “Ya got any good venders around here? I left mah tackle back in Durotar.”

Cassara cleared her throat, and stood as well, “Certainly. Let me change my clothes, and we can be on our way.”

- - - - - - - - - -


This, Zin thought, is not fair.

Together they had made their way out of Shattrath, after purchasing the needed rods and tackle from the vender in the lower part of the city – a short, thickly built man who wore a floppy hat over his eyes. He had hung back from them, none too eager to announce to the whole of the city that he were on an outing with a human. He was finding that the idea was not too shameful, as there was such a mingling of races around him that it was hard to believe that outside the great walls, these people would sooner tear each other's throats out rather than walk shoulder to shoulder, share a meal, or laugh at some lewd joke together. Here, within the city, all were equal. Regardless, though, he rocked on his heels, his hands tucked into his pockets as he waited for Cassara to acquire their purchases.

Soon, they walked through the gates of the city and down the path, new rods and a small jar of night crawlers between them. Cassara touched his elbow, leading him off the road and into the trees. Soon they were upon a small meadow, with a pleasantly sized pond near the trees. The light of Terokkar Forest was meager, but the air was warm, and Zin found that the grass beneath his feet was soft. They were quickly settled on the bank of the pond, their lines cast.

An hour had passed and their contest remained in a draw. The fish, it seemed, did not care for their wager, and had remained of equal size to each other. Their separate strings dangled in the shallow water near the shore, five fish each, swimming and flopping in an attempt to free themselves. It was a little after their sixth catch that Cassara went and did the most unfair thing in all of history.

In favor of her house robes, she had managed to find a pair of linen breeches. They sat low on her curving hips and flared from the knee down. With it she had put on a loose, white linen shirt, wearing it with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It was a simple, efficient outfit, one that promised to remain cool and comfortable in the afternoon warmth. What she did to make Zin's life miserable, however, was to put her pretty fingers to work; she unlaced the front strings, leaving them loose and open. The problem with this was that the size of the shirt (obviously it had been tailored for a man) was much too large for her, so the opening she had created dipped well down past her bust, the bottom resting somewhere above her navel.

Zin could see, much to his dismay, the delicate, inner curve of her breasts. As she shifted in the grass, making herself more comfortable, the shoulder nearest to him became bare, the neckline slipping over the gentle curve to rest just at the top of her upper arm. She had left her hair loose for their outing, and now she swept the entire long, red mass over her other shoulder, accenting the profile of her fair, pretty face. As she lifted a hand, adjusting the slack of her line, Zin could not help it when his eyes snapped immediately to her chest, watching the way her movements brought her ample bust into sharp focus. Inwardly he groaned, and forced his attention back to his bobber.

Of course, the woman couldn't leave well enough alone. In the next twenty minutes she seemed absolutely restless. She would shift, making the shirt slip just a bit more. She would stretch, arching her back so far that the strings of the shirt would stretch against her belly and breast bone. At one point, Zin feared she would force herself through the linen itself and expose herself completely. All the while he kept catching himself looking at her sidelong, attempting a discreet inspection of her curves, the paleness of her skin. Atal's mocking laughter filtered into his mind, urging him to take advantage of the somewhat clothed female, to take and taste and touch. The thought of it made him shiver, made him force his eyes shut to block it out. But that only afforded him an uninterrupted wash of fantasy, and he wondered if perhaps he had completely lost his mind.

“Are you alright?”

He chanced a look at her, her skin beginning to flush from the afternoon heat, a slight sheen of perspiration across her cheeks, making them glow. Inwardly, he groaned.

“Ya mon. I be fine.” Definitely not fair.

It was then that he noticed the slight tilt to her mouth, a subtle twitch, and he realized she was smirking at him. Immediately he sobered, hardly believing what he was seeing. She was baiting him, distracting him, using dirty tactics for.. well, there was a reason for it, he was sure. And for the first time in his life, he allowed his cousin's influence to determine his action.

After all, if Atal knew anything, it was how to play the game.

Shrugging to himself mentally, he looked at Cassara again, carefully schooling his features to one of boredom, gazing at her with half lidded eyes, “You, mon? Ya be a bit flushed.”

She smiled fully at that, waving her hand toward her face to fan herself, “I am a little. I spend so much time at the Tier I forget how muggy the forest can... get...” her words trailed off, and Zin was deeply pleased when her voice grew quiet, nearly a whisper, as he peeled his leather vest up and off, over his head. He tossed it aside, and took up his fishing pole once again, grinning at the wide eyed expression on her face.

“I know whatchoo mean, mon. Dis should be more comfortable.”

She continued to stare at him, her own fishing pole slipping down from between her knees to rest in the grass. He turned his own attention back to the water, watching her in his peripheral. She kept looking at him, her eyes not at all shy as she took in his form. He was not what one would call a vain creature, but he had no illusions about his physique, either. Zin knew he was well shaped, lithe and toned, with not an ounce of flesh to spare. He took great pride in his body as it was just as much a tool as his daggers, one he utilized often. There were few in the world who could outmaneuver him in hand to hand combat, and he still swelled with ego when he remembered the day that he took down both Atal and Rigi when it was two against one. Neither of his cousins had challenged him since then.

He was happily simmering in his silent gloating, and was just as quickly knocked off that pedestal when he felt Cassara's warm fingertips brush against his chest.

He started, leaning back and looking down at her hand. She was touching him, the pads of her fingers dragging along the tribal scarring over his heart. The marks were small, not nearly as extravagant as others in his family had. She was careful in her touch, and from the expression in her eyes, he could see it was not a sterile sort of examination. She looked at him, caressed his scars as though reverent. When she lifted her eyes to his, there was a heat in them that even Zin could recognize.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, her voice soft, whispering. He swallowed, wondering if his nervousness was showing through.

“Ya mon. A leetle.”

“What are they for?”

He could not answer for a moment. She had moved in a little closer to him, leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.

“Dey be... a symbol. Ta prove we be men, ready ta go out inta da world.”

“And what... do you do... after this?”

There were no more words he could say, nothing he could push to the forefront to stop what was happening between them then. With a soft exhale of breath, Zin moved toward her, his eyelids drooping.

It was then that Cassara's fishing rod gave a sharp hiss, the line running free and the bobber sinking fast beneath the water. They jumped apart, she gripping the rod quickly and giving it a sharp tug to set the hook. Almost immediately it was ripped from her little hands, scooting across the ground toward a watery grave.

She gave a yelp and lept, landing on top of it, holding on for dear life. Whatever was at the other end of the line was huge, and Zin watched for only a split second before going into action. He knelt behind her, her rump on the grass, her heels digging into the ground as he wrapped his arms around her and held onto the rod. Together they held tight, pulling, guiding the fish toward the surface and to exhaustion. For long minutes they struggled with the catch, their muscles working together in tandem. The head of the day brought new sweat to their skin, their breath heavy.

With a final tug, their bodies in unison, they managed to bring the bobber to the surface. Then the line snapped, and the next thing they knew, Zin was sprawled on the grass on his back, Cassara landing neatly on top of him. Her hair covered most of his face, their limbs were tangled, their hands and arms tingling from the shock. Almost immediately they began to laugh.

Eventually, Cassara managed to right herself, to roll of of Zin. He helped her to stand, and through silent agreement, they gathered the fish they had caught and called the challenge a draw. He slung the two lines of still flopping fish over his shoulder, the Mage dumping the remainder of their jar of nightcrawlers into the shallows. She took up the rods, still smiling at him. Zin stared at her, taking in her mussed form; the tangle of her hair, the loose fitting shirt, the grass stain on her clothes from their struggle against the mysterious fish in the pond, and he found that just as before, he could not help himself.

He stepped into her, feeling the heat radiating from her body, watching as her smile faltered.

“I be sorry, mon.” he said, and just as her lips parted to question him, he claimed them under his own.

The kiss was soft, tentative on his part, and he half expected her to recoil, to scream, to freeze him where he stood. He expected anything but the sharp intake of breath, and the sudden melting he felt against him.

Her mouth opened to him, eager and inviting. Her tongue was sweet and energetic, sweeping into his own mouth, dueling with his in quick, greedy tastes. He was perversely thankful for the cold, flopping tails of their fish as they squirmed against his bare back. He thought that perhaps that was the only thing that kept him grounded enough in reality to know when to pull away, to end what was happening much, much too quickly. He felt that if there was nothing there to stop him, he would have pulled her beneath him and lost himself completely.

As he drew from her, he found that he had, at some point, buried his fingers in her hair, forcing her to tilt her head to accommodate his desires. As he looked into her face, he felt a tightening in his belly; her cheeks were a pretty rose color, flushing and hot. Her lips were bruised and full from the force of his kiss, and her eyes were nearly glowing behind her lashes. She smiled slowly at him.

“Why would you ever feel the need to apologize for that?”

Zin felt himself smiling shyly back, feeling a little foolish and giddy at the same time. Those feelings accompanied him all the way back to Shattrath, and he was glad that she seemed to read his wants without him having to speak them. They were companionable on the way back, but she maintained her distance for his comfort. As they reached the gates of the city, he felt her knuckles brush against the back of his hand. When he glanced down at her, he saw her smiling at him once again, and soon he had taken hold of her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it completely.

The City was too near, and his newest discovery and allowance of himself was far too fresh for anything else.